


Resigned

by lyricalsoul



Series: Hiatus [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach Falls, Watson is broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson is resigned. And broken</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resigned

For the thousandth time, I retrace my steps, rethinking the entire affair, applying Holmes' methods in a frenzy of anger, heartache, and sheer cussedness, determined to leave no stone unturned, no bush unexplored. I rail and curse and pray until I have no voice left. I peer down into the gaping abyss until my eyes ache from the strain. I stand in the mists of the falls until I am drenched.

All to no avail.

Holmes is gone.

The sense of loss spurs me on. Night falls on the seventh day of searching, and despite the rain, I begin to pitch my tent.

"You cannot stay here, Dr. Watson." Cyril, the chief inspector, lays a firm hand on my shoulder. "It is raining, and you will become ill. Even more so than you are now."

"I can't leave," I whisper, my throat raw from screaming Holmes' name into the roar of the water, and from the congestion that manifests itself in a cough that won't go away. "He may..."

"It's been seven days, Dr. Watson. If he fell in, there is no way he would survive." He shakes his head sadly. "I've seen it many times. You've done all you could."

"But..." I stop as the words stick in my throat. Tears well in my eyes, and though I know there is no hope of finding him alive, I cannot make myself leave. "No. I won't give up. I will search at the end of path again at sunrise."

"No." He whistles loudly, and two big, strong men approach us. "These lads will see you back to your hotel. Please go with them."

"Inspector, you cannot-" I stop as the constables take me in hand. I struggle, but in vain. They are far stronger than I, and in my condition, there is no way I can outrun them. I heave a great, shuddering sigh that turns to a sob. "Oh, my dear Holmes," I whisper.

"We understand, Doctor." Cyril hands me a tin cup. "Drink this. It'll warm you, help you get through the night."

I take the cup with a gracious smile and down the contents. Brandy, with just a hint of... "What have you given me?"

"Laudanum. Rest, Dr. Watson. You've done all you could."

"No!" I push against the men, but my arms feel as though they've been encased in treacle. "No! Holmes!" I yell as loudly as I can, but it comes out a mere whisper. "No..." I feel myself sinking to the ground. "Holmes..."

"Take him back to his room, and this time have someone guard the door," I hear him say. "The laudanum should keep him out for the night, but he's a stubborn cuss. God damn us all for not being able to at least find the body!"

"Please keep looking," I manage, then surrender to the waiting blackness.


End file.
